Another Family Affair
by Jemmz
Summary: Arthur had another son from an affair that Peter and Nathan never knew about. After Nathan dies, Angela confesses they have a younger brother, Alex, who Peter finds in a foster home and decides to teach all he knows..
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **Another Family Affair

**Rating:** T

**Warnings: **Mild swearing

**Characters: **Peter Petrelli, mentions of the rest of the Petrelli family, Alex Petrellli (OC)

**Summary: **Arthur had another son from an affair that Peter and Nathan never knew about. It's only after Nathan dies that Angela confesses they have a younger brother, Alex, who lives with his neglectful mother and realises he has an ability of his own. After his mother dies, Alex is sent to a terrible foster home and found by Peter who decides to take him in and teach him all he knows.

**A/N: **I'm not sure how many people will read this, but this is my first fic for an Original Character and I thought I'd post it up just in case anyone else is interested.

He could still hardly believe he was here. Was he angry? Hell yes. His mother had lied to him, his father had betrayed them all, and Nathan - he would never know about any of this. He would never get the opportunity that Peter had now, not that he particularly wanted it. It was just something he had to do.

_Oh, ma. Why now of all times? Nathan is hardly even cold yet, now you spring this on me?_ Since the loss of his older brother and his father, he had assumed that half of the Petrelli family were gone forever. Now it looked like a part of them existed in someone else. He trembled slightly, exhaling shakily.

_Peter, there's something you need to know about your father_, he replayed his mother's voice in his head, _he had an affair when you were ten-years-old. You have a younger brother. _

Of course it had been a shock, and it had taken him weeks to warm to the idea. He had a little brother, for God's sake. He was nearly thirty years old, and all this time he had been used to being the youngest. Now it looked like he had to be the oldest. He had to meet this kid, no matter what kind of person he was, or on what grounds he had entered this world. He had to meet the boy who shared his name and had the same blood running in his veins.

"Who are you looking for?" a woman at the desk of the foster home asked him, her smile forced and her eyes tired.

"Uh, Alex Petrelli," he answered. The name sounded strange on his tongue.

A look of realisation overtook her features, "Alex? You know him?"

"I'm his brother," Peter replied, trying his best not to fidget. The woman got to her feet.

"I didn't think he had any family left."

_Me neither, _thought Peter.

"He'll probably be in his room. Follow me."

Peter chewed on his lip as he followed the young woman through a crowd of children, chatting away, or listening to their ipods, or watching television. Peter wondered why he wasn't out here with the other kids. Perhaps he still needed time to adjust, he concluded.

Finally, they reached a once-white corridor that appeared aged and grotty. The ceiling looked yellow and Peter wasn't impressed to find the word "Freak" scratched in to what seemed to be Alex's bedroom door. The woman forced another smile and tried her best to seem concerned.

"He doesn't really get on with the other children. We're trying to work with him, but he doesn't want to listen."

Peter frowned sympathetically. He knew what it was like when other people didn't like you. He wasn't exactly popular at school, and he spent a lot of time feeling angry and bitter towards everyone. He understood what this kid must be going through, he just thought it was a shame to see history repeat itself.

The woman knocked hard on the door, not really waiting for a reply when she swung the creaking door open. A dark, hooded form was huddled over on the bed, hugging his knees to his chest. The only part of him Peter really saw was his deep brown eyes as they glanced curiously at the door before they retreated back underneath his hood in to the shadows. Suddenly, Peter feared what he had set himself up for.

"Alex, you have a visitor," she said to him loudly, as if he were deaf. Kid didn't bother to reply. She spoke again, more rudely this time. "Did you hear me, Mr. Petrelli?" It was strange to hear her address a stranger with that name. "See, it's your -"

"Peter," he quickly interrupted before she gave away the big surprise. The last thing he wanted was to overwhelm the boy too quickly. After all, he had no idea Peter even existed. "I'm Peter."

The boy ignored him and picked at the hole in his ripped bed covers. It was only then that Peter realised how awful the room was; the window had a small crack in it and desperately needed a new paint job, the plaster on the walls had gradually been peeling off, the floor was stained with God knew what, and the smell was pretty unpleasant. What kind of place had they sent this kid to?

"He's always like this," the woman explained, not noticing Peter's critical glances around the room. "Just stays to himself really. You'll be lucky if you get much out of him. He's a troublemaker, this one."

He smiled politely at her, "Right. Thank you."

"Let me know if you need any help, okay?" she edged towards the door. "He can get pretty mean when he wants to."

"Sure," Peter nodded, unnerved by her comment. "Thanks." He was grateful to see her walk away at last. He turned his attention to the teenager in front of him and he sat on a chair beside the desk.

"Bitch," the boy muttered, his voice low.

"Excuse me?"

"Look, man. I don't know anyone called Peter," he muttered, turning to face him. "So just leave me alone, will ya?"

Peter was speechless for a moment as he analysed the boy's face. It was intriguing how much he looked like him. As he continued to stare, he thought he could see similarities between him and his father, and even Nathan. The eyes in particular caught his interest this time, as they gleamed in the light from the window. He certainly looked like a Petrelli.

"What? You wanna take a picture or something?" Alex spat, his face a mixture of confusion and annoyance.

Peter realised how rude he was being and broke his gaze, smiling awkwardly. "Sorry."

Alex rested his head against the wall and sighed. "What do you want, man?"

Peter inhaled nervously, "I, uh….look, I know what you're going through, okay? I get it."

Alex scorned, swinging his legs round to face this stranger. "Excuse me? You know what I'm going through?" he repeated, voice loud. Peter was taken aback at this.

"I know what it's like to lose someone," he assured him truthfully.

"You don't know shit, man!" he exclaimed, "You have no idea what's happening! What this is like! Who the hell are you anyway? What the hell are you doing here? Who are you, man?"

Peter raised his hands as if in surrender. Obviously, he was taking the loss of his mother very hard indeed. Peter had watched the funeral from a distance a few weeks back and saw the pain in Alex's eyes as he said goodbye to his mother. It was understandable, but this kid was making it increasingly hard to talk to him.

As if having read his mind, the kid sprang up suddenly and eyed Peter carefully. "I've seen you before. You were at my mom's funeral, right? Are you following me or something? Who are you? Answer me!"

The boy spoke so fast, Peter could hardly explain himself at all. He swallowed hard. "Alright. Have you ever heard of Arthur Petrelli?"

The boy repeated the name, felt it on his lips. He sat back down on the bed, the anger and panic vanishing from his face. _Arthur Petrelli. Arthur Petrelli. _Peter knew he recognised it.

"Did your mom ever mention him?" he asked carefully.

"My mom never told me anything," he replied bitterly, avoiding his gaze.

"But you recognise the name?"

Alex didn't answer. He chewed on his lip and rested his head against his palm, as if replaying something in his head. He furrowed his brows suspiciously. "Who is he?" he asked finally.

"He's your father," Peter told him bluntly, awaiting his reaction.

"My father," he repeated. It was hard to decipher what he was feeling from the tone in his voice, and Peter couldn't bring himself to read the kid's mind.

Peter cleared his throat and fidgeted slightly. "He's my father too."

Alex nearly spluttered and looked across at him, disbelief in his face. "What?"

"Alex," he inhaled gently and looked him in the eyes seriously, "I'm your older brother, Peter Petrelli."

Those sharp brown eyes pierced in to his, staring at him, watching. His lips were slightly parted as if he were dumb-founded. He leant forward slightly on the lumpy bed and broke his gaze, eyes wide and focusing in to blank space.

"Are you sure?"

Peter bit his lower lip and leant forward, nodding. "Pretty sure."

He didn't look at him. He was so still; like a statue, his concrete eyes fixated on the floor below and his stone back hunched over slightly in thought. "Why are you telling me this now?"

The older Petrelli inhaled, "My mother told me a couple months ago. She's known about your existence all along, she never told me until now." He paused. "I needed….time before I saw you."

"Time?" He looked up and the sudden movement almost made Peter jump.

He swallowed. "I recently lost someone special to me. My older brother -" he stopped himself. "_Our _older brother. Nathan. I needed time to adjust….to get used to the idea of losing a brother…and then gaining one."

A line formed between Alex's dark eyebrows and his nose wrinkled slightly. "I don't even know you. I don't know anything about you. Any of you."

"We're your family, Alex."

"I don't _have _a family. So we have the same name, so your dad screwed my mom - it doesn't mean we're a family."

"I can help you."

He stood up again, angrily, his lip curled. "You can't help me, okay?" he yelled, "Do you have ANY idea what I've been through? The shit I've put up with during the years! Where was your precious little family then?"

Peter got to his feet, holding up his hands defensively. He could hear the angry thoughts inside the boy's head, the insults boiling up in his mind, the agony he was feeling projecting on to Peter. He stood back, listened, and heard something which might explain Alex's troubled behaviour.

His eyes fixed on to his, his head shaking. "It's not your fault, Alex."

Alex froze, his eyes glistening with confusion and sadness, his anger receding back inside himself. His mouth was dry as he tried to speak. "What did you say?"

_What the hell?_

Peter risked a step towards him, "The accident. It wasn't your fault. I know you think it is." He could feel the guilt, the bitter regrets. He heard them play inside his own head, overwhelming him.

Alex's lower lip trembled, and Peter stopped reading his mind. "Get out."

"Alex -"

"You heard me, man. Get the hell out, whoever you are!"

"I only want to help -"

Alex yelled over him, "GET OUT! Leave me alone! Understand? Get out! Get out!"

Peter, strangely enough, felt a wave of fear wash over him, knocking him down with astonishment. He had braved wars, fell from thirty-story buildings, fought battles and faced Sylar, the strongest and most evil being that ever existed - at least, he _had_ been - but dealing with the violent response of this teenage boy deemed much too challenging for his taste. He raised his hands again and stepped backwards towards the door where two large men who seemed like orderlies shoved past him to restrain the boy who continued yelling and fighting.

"Get off me! Get off!"

Peter watched, stunned, as they grabbed the boy and pushed him on to the bed, his legs kicking wildly in the air as he screamed. As he turned, he saw the lady from earlier watching over his shoulder.

"Told you, he gets so out of hand. He needs a little discipline if you ask me," she commented, unaffected by the violence that was occurring in front of her.

Peter couldn't believe his senses. Over the madness, the shouting, he could hear Alex's voice in his mind once again.

_Not again, not again. Leave me alone! Don't touch me. Don't touch me!_

He tore his gaze away and faced the woman in front of him, a frown on his lips. "I'll be back tomorrow." And that was a promise he wouldn't break.


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N: **Sorry for the long wait between updates. These chapters aren't pre-written so it's going to take me a while to finish and upload them. I've also got other stuff going on but I'm just so glad people are reading and enjoying this! So I hope you stick around, I plan on continuing this :D_

"He's completely messed up. He's an angry, hurt kid. You shouldn't have left it so long to tell me about him."

Angela stared at him through cold eyes over the breakfast table. She inhaled and dabbed at her mouth with a napkin. "And what good would that have done? You were only a child yourself when he was born; you wouldn't have understood."

"I would have understood that I had another brother. What about Nathan?"

"Nathan is gone," she almost snapped. "It makes no difference; you know now. Besides, what would you have done? The boy had a mother, a life of his own. And you had your own responsibilities here."

"And what about dad? Did he not care about him either?" he glared.

Angela sighed. "Your father and I had an agreement. After the affair he swore to leave that part of his life behind."

"Including his own son?" Peter spat.

"He already had two sons to look after and support," she told him angrily, then questioned herself as to why she was protecting a man who had hurt and betrayed them all so badly. She felt her heart beat fast and she withdrew her gaze and sat back, trying to fight her emotions.

Peter was quiet then. He watched his mother guiltily, then looked down and asked her in a softer voice, "Did you know who she was? Alex's mother?"

She swallowed, taking a moment to reply. "She worked with your father for a short while and fell in love with him. _Rose Greenwood_." She looked up to meet her son's gaze and offered a tight _so-that-was-that_ sort of smile. "They had their affair and I found out shortly after she got pregnant. I forgave him, though after everything that's happened I wish I hadn't."

He returned her sad smile with a sympathetic frown. He watched her take a sip of her coffee before he opened his mouth to speak again. "He needs help. Alex. I think he's in trouble."

She nodded without looking at him. "I hope you know what you're doing, Peter."

He smiled quickly before the anxious frown re-appeared. "Me too."

On Peter's arrival at the foster home later that day he was surprised to see, as he pushed open the stiff grey door, a large crowd of the children yelling and shouting at what appeared to be a fight taking place between two boys in the centre. He entered just in time to see Alex all but fly past him in to the edge of the front desk, the kids around him cheering and shouting. His fist tightened and he scrambled up, his face full of fury. Peter grabbed him. Where the hell were the staff?

"What is going _on_?"

"Get off me! Get off me, man!" Alex yelled at him, his face red and his lip cut as he struggled. But Peter was too strong. He tightened an arm around his torso to prevent him from rejoining the fight.

A woman ran out at that moment, her mouth open in shock. Her attention turned to Alex's attacker who was stood not far away in the middle of the circle, raging and unwavering. "Ryan, what is going on? What are you doing?"

Ryan swiped at the blood from his nose and looked at the woman defensively. The boy frowned and pointed accusingly at the younger Petrelli. "He called my mom a hooker!"

Alex struggled. "Well she is!"

The woman rolled her eyes. "Alright, everyone. Show's over! Go to your rooms! You two boys come here." Her gaze settled on Peter as the crowd departed. His hold loosened on Alex and he pulled away immediately. "Who are you?" she asked.

Peter straightened himself out and stepped closer. "I'm, uh, Alex's brother. I _was_ here to visit before I had to break apart these two." He indicated to the two teenage boys who were stood near each other now, glaring at one another and mumbling under their breaths.

She just stared at him a moment before replying. "Well perhaps you better hear this too then," she suggested before turning to the boys. "Now, what's this all about?"

"Ryan's being an asshole, that's what," Alex grunted. Ryan nearly struck him when the woman gave him a warning look and he backed down. Alex glared at him. "Hey, all I did was tell it how it is, show him how HE'S got no reason to judge ME when mommy's in jail for prostitution and daddy's in rehab for overdosing on heroin."

Peter looked away uncomfortably, almost pretending that he hadn't heard the words coming out of Alex's mouth. But it was hard not to notice the glint of fury yet surprise that was on Ryan's face at that moment.

"How the hell do you know about that?" he fumed, leaning closer to the boy. Alex stepped back, his eyes locked angrily with Ryan's. Ryan poked him hard in the chest. "Huh? How do you know these things?" He turned to the woman beside him who was trying to create a barrier between them with her arm. "He does this to everyone, Karen! He's upsetting all of us. He's a freak!"

"Alright, enough," Karen spoke softly. Peter hoped this wound end soon.

"He's been reading our files, I know he has! He's reading all about our lives and using them against us, the son of a _bitch_!"

Alex raised his arm and tightened his fist to punch him when Peter caught him and held him back again.

"_Enough_," the woman named Karen repeated sternly. "Ryan, go back to your room and cool off. I'll talk to Alex alone and we'll get this all straightened out."

Ryan seemed happier then, waving a mocking goodbye and retreating to his bedroom. Alex lost all anger and seemed to be overcome with something else. He pulled away from Peter again.

"Why can't _I_ go to my room?"

"Alex, that was a serious accusation he just gave. If it's true, you could be in big trouble."

"I know I could be in big trouble, but it's not true," he told her seriously. He shook his head as he tried to reason with her, a nervous smile on his lips. "He's making it up, alright?"

She tilted her head to one side. Peter watched curiously. "Alex," she said gently, "We'll talk about this somewhere private." She turned her attention to Peter, eyeing him suspiciously before adding, "Would you mind waiting?"

Peter looked hesitant but nodded and stepped back. Alex glanced from him to Karen. "No. _No_. I'm not gonna 'talk' about this, it's not true. Alright?" He glanced at Peter again. "It's not true."

Peter was beginning to get worried. "Perhaps I should go too?" he offered, noticing Alex was standing quite close to him now. But Karen shook her head.

"I'm afraid you can't, Mr. Petrelli. This is a confidential matter - the information in those files are not to be disclosed to anyone, which is why I'm so concerned over how your brother here seems to have knowledge of some of the content of those files." She took hold of Alex's arm and he winced slightly. Peter stepped forward again and watched somewhat anxiously as she dragged the boy round a dark corner and in to what appeared to be an office.

He sighed and sat down in one of the sofas. He supposed he'd have to wait.

Twenty minutes later, the woman returned and smiled apologetically, extending her arm to greet Peter properly. "Hi, I'm sorry about that. I'm Karen, I'm in charge here." She showed her teeth in a grin, dimples forming between the freckles on her cheeks.

Peter forced a smile and shook her hand politely. "Nice to meet you."

"You said you were Alex's brother? That's funny, I wasn't aware he had any brothers," she commented, readjusting her glasses and maintaining her tight smile.

"Well, yeah. I'm his half brother," Peter admitted, watching the woman carefully. There was something about her that made him uneasy. He wasn't sure why. She seemed normal enough; long black skirt, blouse, long brunette hair that rested neatly on her shoulders. Perhaps it was that unwavering, forced smile that sent a chill down him. "To be completely honest, I only found out about his existence a few months ago. When his mother died."

"I see." Her smile dropped and she glanced behind her a moment.

"Is there a problem?"

"No," she insisted, the tight smile returning. "It's just we've had some concerns with him."

"So I've heard," Peter frowned and he crossed his arms across his black jacket.

"He has trouble getting on with the other children, you see. And he treats the staff so terribly. He has a mouth on him - and he's been known to get physical at times. And now, there's the situation with the files."

His nose wrinkled. "He read them?"

"I'm afraid so. He must have broken in to my office during the night."

"But how can you be sure? He said he didn't read them."

"He's also been known to be quite the liar. He can be very convincing. But we know for a fact that he's been reading them. There's no other possible way he could have known what he did."

A line formed between Peter's dark eyebrows. There was always more than _one_ possibility, he thought. "So where is he now? "

"Well, he's been punished." He seemed concerned that her smile hadn't faded so much at this point. "And he won't be allowed to leave his room for a little while."

Peter stared at her, concentrated, heard her voice in his head: _He'll think again before doing something so stupid next time. _He pulled away from her thoughts and felt himself frown again. Part of him wanted to run for the door but he knew he had to stay. For Alex. He wanted to help whether the young man wanted him to or not.

"I'd like to talk to my brother now, please."

* * *

As he knocked on the scratched door, a large frowning figure opened it to glare coldly in to Peter's eyes. His white uniform covered his broad shoulders and muscles, and suggested he was part of the staff there. Peter thought he could have used his help earlier during the boy's fight, but felt somewhat relieved to have not seen him as his threatening glare pursued his gaze and the big man thundered past him with an emotionless expression.

Peter dodged past him to see Alex sitting on the side of his bed, his head down and his hands fidgeting as they rested on his lap. When he looked up slowly, he could see that his eyes looked red and sore. For a terrible moment, Peter feared he had been crying. But his eyes were not watering, his cheeks were dry and pale and rather than sadness, the boy simply sat there frowning just as he had been the previous day. He was very still and very calm. He didn't say a word as he broke his gaze away from Peter's.

The door clicked shut and Peter sat down in front of him as he had the day before. Alex didn't acknowledge his presence. He seemed lost in his own thoughts for now.

"Alex?"

For a short while, Alex didn't respond. His eyes were focused in to nothingness, his dry lips remained in an unchanging frown. Peter opened his mouth to add something when suddenly, Alex beat him to it.

"Why are you here?" he mumbled quietly. "What do you want?"

Peter was hesitant to answer. No response he gave would be satisfying enough for the young man. He had already told him that he wanted to help and Alex hadn't wanted to hear it. _What is his problem?_ Thought Peter. _What is going through that troubled head of his?_

It was then he remembered again that, thanks to Matt Parkman, he could answer that question for himself. He could almost sense the boy's thoughts communicating with his, so loud that a mind reader didn't even have to _try _to listen to them. They were quiet at first, distant, and Peter thought he could hear them repeating over and over, as if he were replaying a previous conversation in his head.

_You know I didn't do it, what's your problem?_

Peter wrinkled his forehead in concentration.

_Okay, okay! I'm sorry!_

His heart beat a little faster.

_I said I'm sorry! Stop it, man! STOP! _

He suddenly felt very uncomfortable, his palms sweating uncontrollably.

_Don't touch me, don't touch me! _

Peter broke away then, breathing in deeply for relief, as all he heard then were terrible screams that overwhelmed his senses. He wiped the sweat from his face and felt his head burn. He turned his attention to Alex who was now holding his head in his hands, his sleeves nearly covering his face. Why was _this _going on in his head? What was he thinking about? And suddenly, Peter felt even worse about this then he had at the beginning.

"You didn't take those files, did you?" he said after a few moment's more of speculation.

"Doesn't matter now," he replied coldly, his sore eyes staring through him.

He wrinkled his nose and leant closer. "Alex, what did they do?"

He sniffed and seemed to snap back in to reality then, leaning back and looking at Peter the way he had the previous day. "Nothing I can't handle. It's nothing."

He exhaled softly and nodded. "Nothing. Right."

Alex glanced away again to the cracks in his wall. "I think you should go."

Peter didn't move. He couldn't leave now, not when he believed Alex was being hurt. But the young man was persistent. His eyes shifted from Peter to the wall.

"Please. I just want you to go."

And Peter almost did what he wanted. He stood. But he couldn't let himself walk out that door. He wouldn't. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Look, you seem like a decent enough guy," he began, his voice becoming louder, "but I honestly don't know you, and you don't know me. I don't care if we're long lost siblings - maybe I woulda cared once but not now. I just wanna be alone, okay? I need to be alone."

Peter bit down hard on his lip, and at the moment he noticed Alex was doing the same, tasting the blood from his cut. He also couldn't tear away his gaze from the purple-green bruise that marked his upper-arm, as if someone had grabbed there with such a force it left a painful impression. He sighed and ran a hand quickly through his hair.

Alex watched as Peter grabbed a spare bit of note paper from the side and started to scribble down numbers on it. He handed him the paper, a serious expression on his face. "This is my number. I want you to call me if you need me."

Peter was worried that Alex might reject his offer. After all, why call a complete stranger when you were in trouble? Then again, Peter seemed to be the only one in Alex's life right now that was willing to help him. He _needed _him. He may not have admitted it, but it was the truth. Alex didn't move for a few moments, only stared at the paper with a frown. But to Peter's relief, he raised a hand and slowly took the number from Peter's grasp.

"Thanks."

The older Petrelli smiled and backed away. As he turned to leave and walk out the door, he passed the large frowning man from earlier, his expression as grave and menacing as ever. Peter only hoped, as he left the foster home for the second time, that Alex would be okay here by himself.


	3. Chapter 3

"Alex, it's dinner time."

Alex looked up from his bed sleepily, having fallen asleep in the mess of blankets while listening to his mp3 player. His eyes focused on the large man in front of him, seeing his lips move but hearing only the audio from the music in his ears. He still shuddered at the sight of him, and removed one earpiece so that he could hear what the tall man wanted.

"I said that it's your dinner time, _Alex_," he repeated in an irritated yet calm way.

Alex wiped his eyes. He hated it when he said his name like that. "I'm not allowed to leave my room."

"Well, you gotta eat, kid. You're a growing boy," he told him somewhat chillingly as he smiled that menacing smile.

"I didn't eat _yesterday_," Alex almost retorted, but managed to respond in a less aggressive tone when he saw the man's expression. "I mean, I'd rather just stay here tonight, Tom. I guess I'm not really hungry."

"You're all skin and bones," Tom replied, but he didn't sound concerned at all. "Wasting away. It's a shame really." Alex avoided his devilish eye with caution. "So you had a visitor earlier? Friend of yours?"

Alex cleared his throat awkwardly. "He's nobody."

"Don't lie to me," Tom tsked, shaking his head. "I hear he's your brother. Now, where's he been hiding?" Alex shrugged, absentmindedly rubbing the bruise on his right arm. "I hope this doesn't mean you'll be leaving our company," he continued teasingly. "I've rather enjoyed our time together."

Alex forced a smile. "Been a blast," he said somewhat sarcastically under his breath.

"Oh, I almost forgot," Tom added, stepping closer. Alex instinctively sprang back, his hands out protectively in front of him. Tom raised his eyebrows. "Relax, kid." He leant forward and took the mp3 player from his trembling grasp. "No music. Part of the punishment."

A frown-line formed on Alex's forehead, "Come on, don't you think I've been punished enough? You can't do that!"

"I can do whatever I want," snapped Tom, folding the device in his palm.

"It's the only thing keeping me sane!"

"Karen's orders." Tom shot him a dirty look, and he struggled to find his voice.

"I…I'd like to talk to Karen."

"She's busy," Tom muttered, and Alex thought he could see the man's hand tighten around the device, almost snapping the flimsy plastic.

Alex bit down hard on his lip and scowled. "Okay, that's it. You know what -"

"What?" Tom interrupted with a grim smirk. "You gonna tell on me? Nobody cares, pal. Nobody cared with the files, and nobody will care about this. You're on your own."

Alex swallowed hard and looked away. "One day, man. One day you're gonna pay for everything you've done to me. And you won't be able to ever _touch _me again." His dark eyes stared coldly in to his, burning with hatred. Tom looked down to the floor and sneered.

"Goodnight, Alex."

The door shut and the lights went out, leaving Alex in darkness. In the silence, he could hear his breathing waver as his heart thundered in his chest. Somehow, he found his hand in his pocket, running a finger along the edge of the piece of paper with Peter Petrelli's number on it.

_Peter Petrelli. _The stranger who shared his name, his blood. The man who showed up after all this time, claiming he wanted to help. How could he help? Everything was so messed up. Like a thick black line drawn in pen; it couldn't be erased. What could some _stranger _possibly do to help _him_? And why? He didn't deserve it.

This Peter guy had no idea who he was, what he was capable of. He was confused and he wanted answers. _Needed_ answers. But they were still just strangers. How on earth could Alex trust him? Once this so-called brother of his found out the truth, he would run in the opposite direction. _Forget_ helping him!

Alex had accepted that he was all alone; that he had to take care of himself. He told himself he didn't need anyone. He didn't need his abandoning father, he didn't need his alcoholic mother, and he certainly didn't need this new guy. This new guy that looked kind of like him, that sounded kind of like him, and seemed to swoop out of nowhere promising things that Alex knew wouldn't last.

Still, he was curious. About his father and his estranged brothers, about the lives they lead and how much his own life paled in comparison to their cosy lifestyles.

He scorned again and rolled over on his bed. His stomach ached, but he ignored it. He wished he could fall asleep again, but the thought of Tom creeping around outside his room made his heart thump loudly. He could hear his footsteps, he was sure of it. Suddenly, he felt sick. And he wished he had his mp3 playing in his ears again.

It felt like hours later when Alex heard the creak of his door and noticed a light shine in to his bedroom. For a horrifying moment, he feared it was Tom, but was almost relieved to see, as he turned over on his bed and glanced up at the silhouetted figure, that it was just Ryan the Moron standing at his door with his arms folded across his chest.

Shielding his eyes from the light of the corridor, Alex sat up and asked him what he was doing. Ryan smirked.

"Tom taught you a lesson, did he? That'll teach you not to nose in to our private lives," he scoffed. Alex's jaw stiffened.

"I didn't read any damn files. I can read you like a book, Ryan. I _know_ you."

"Don't pull that crap on me. Everyone knows you did it."

"You don't know shit."

Ryan smirked again and glanced down for a moment as a few other boys emerged behind him, all with identical frowns and knitted eyebrows. Ryan watched Alex's threatened expression with relish. "You need to come with us."

Emma Coolidge had called round to see Peter that night, filled with concern about the revelation of a third Petrelli brother. She had never met Nathan, but she knew Peter was having trouble getting over his death, and the discovery of this Alex boy must have given him quite a shock.

With a sad smile, she placed a hand on top of Peter's as they sat together in his apartment. "Are you okay?"

He looked at her and smiled at her reassuring face. "Yeah. I'm fine." He felt the urge to look away, but thought she'd find it easier to read his lips if he were facing her. "I'm just worried about him, that's all."

She nodded and squeezed his hand. "I'm sure he'll be alright with you looking out for him."

That time he did look away and smiled modestly. "I hope so. It's just -" he sighed and got to his feet, running a hand through his smooth hair and leaning against the wall to face her. "With everything that's been happening lately…I'm not sure I can be there for him. That is if he even wants me to be there for him."

She stood too and walked over to him. "I'm sure you'll find a way. It's going to be hard but I know you'll try. Because you care, Peter. And I can be here to help too." Her concerned frown transformed in to a sweet smile and Peter found himself grinning too.

He leant closer to her and placed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "I love you," he told her, making sure he paused to finish his sentence before pulling her in to a warm embrace.

"I know, I love you too," he heard her say, and felt her smiling. She pulled back again to kiss him and he smiled against her lips.

Their romantic moment was interrupted by the loud ring of Peter's phone. He pulled away and sighed, indicating to the object, and Emma nodded understandingly. He kissed her gently on the forehead before rushing over to answer the disturbance.

"Peter Petrelli speaking," he said in to the speaker. There was a slight pause and heavy breathing from the other side. Peter pressed the phone to his ear. "Hello?"

"It's me. Alex." He heard the familiar voice reply almost breathlessly. "Look, uh…Can you come get me?"

The drive didn't seem as long as before, Peter thought as he pushed down harder on the accelerator. Then again, he hadn't been in as much of a rush the first time. He peered out the car windows frantically. He was sure this was where Alex said he'd be!

Then he spotted a hooded figure hunched over the side of a fountain and Peter knew it was him. He parked the car at the side of the road, jumped out and hurried over to the troubled youth.

"Alex!" he called, and leant forward to get a better look at him. He pulled him up but Alex pushed him away. It was then Peter noticed his clothes and hair were damp from the water and his face displayed an impressive new collection of cuts and bruises.

"I'm fine. I fell," he mumbled unconvincingly when Peter had sat him upright on the pavement.

"What? On your face?" he scoffed. "It doesn't look like you fell," Peter remarked, pulling down his hood to inspect the damage. Nothing too bad. He wouldn't need a hospital visit after all. "What happened, Alex?"

He frowned and looked to the pavement. "Nothing I can't -"

"Nothing you can't handle, I got it." Peter sighed and began to reach for his arm. Alex slapped him away and attempted to stagger to his feet. Peter caught him before he stumbled.

"Look, I just need a ride home, okay? They can't know about this."

"About you falling on your face?" Peter asked scornfully.

"About me sneaking out," Alex gave him a glare before wincing.

They paused a beat and Peter looked at the boy seriously. "What are you so afraid of, Alex? What do they do to you in that place?"

The boy felt his skin burn hot, his heart beat increasing. "Nothing! Okay? Please. I need to get back before they see I'm gone."

"Tell me the truth, or I can't help you."

"You _can't_ help me. Not unless you're gonna drive me back."

Peter was beginning to lose his patience. If Alex wasn't going to trust him anyway, he might as well try things the easy way. He took in a deep breath, slowed down his own thoughts, and listened intently for Alex's voice echoing in his mind.

Except…it didn't.

What was going on? Peter was sure he hadn't taken another power. The only other people he had come in to contact with lately was his mother and Emma. He couldn't remember having any vivid dreams of the future; he knew what they felt like, and he hadn't experienced that for a while. He definitely wasn't seeing an array of beautiful colours dancing in front of his vision to substitute the many sounds that filled his ears. There was no sign of René, the Haitian whose ability prevented other powers from working. So what, he questioned himself, had happened to his mind-reading ability?

His attention turned to the young man in front of him who was staring at him with a mixture of confusion and impatience. He furrowed his dark eyebrows, pushed his damp hair out of his eyes, and shook his head with confusion. "What?"

Peter stared at him. Was it possible? He hadn't really thought about Alex having an ability. Of course, he had considered it. But he had been more anxious about meeting the boy rather than what he was capable of thanks to their father's DNA. He opened his mouth to question the boy before closing it suddenly. What if Alex didn't know what the hell he was talking about? What if he thought Peter was crazy? Now wasn't the time!

He sucked in a breath and instinctively found his hand on Alex's shoulder. This time, to his surprise, Alex didn't shake him off. He just watched as a change seemed to reanimate Peter's features. Because then something quite extraordinary happened: Alex's life flashed before Peter's eyes.

**TBC**


	4. Chapter 4

At ten years old, Alex is used to his mother stumbling home drunk when it's way past his bedtime. He's never been certain why she does this; why she insists on drinking herself stupid in the late evenings, crying to herself or staring miserably in to space, but he's always had a suspicion that it's something to do with his father.

Alex never had a father. But that was okay, because he didn't need one. He had always been this mysterious figure who his mother rarely talked about. Just a name on a birth certificate. The only thing that they would ever share was a name. Of course, a boy naturally wonders where it is exactly he came from. But he never dared ask.

He didn't dare the night he overheard his mother yelling down the phone about someone abandoning their own flesh and blood, about not giving a damn about their own family. He didn't dare the night he found her with a bottle of vodka on the desk and she stared right through him, shutting the door so he could no longer see her. He didn't dare ask when she burst in to tears and held him close, slurring apologies and insisting that she loved him and that they only had each other. That they would only ever have each other.

She never struck him or beat him, though sometimes Alex felt as though she might as well have. Growing up with a mother so unstable and miserable made living with her so unbearable. Sometimes he felt himself overridden with guilt for things he hadn't even done. It was almost as if she were punishing him and he couldn't figure out why.

She claimed to love him, but she hardly ever showed such affection towards him. And so she cried, and Alex cried, and he learnt to hate this mysterious man who had destroyed his mother so effortlessly. And he learnt to not ask questions and to bury them deep inside his mind.

But the questions built up and the curiosity only got worse. Rose Greenwood had no answers. She was a mother only in name, floating around the house like a ghost. She ignored her son and so he took care of himself.

It's only at sixteen years old, after a hundred fights and endless blurred nights of torment and misery, that Alex realises he can't stand to watch his mother deteriorate any longer.

"You can't leave. It's you and me, remember? We're a family." Her lip trembles as she pushes back a thin strand of blonde hair. But as she drinks, the trembling stops and the yelling starts:

"Don't be ridiculous, Alex! You can be so ungrateful. I've brought you up all by myself, I feed you, I clothe you, I take care of you! How can you stand there and tell me you can't live like this anymore? Do you have any idea what this is like for me?"

"You're not listening, mom," he says through clenched teeth. "There is no you and me. There's you and then there's me. Will you stop drinking yourself to death for five minutes while I tell you why we're so messed up? I'm not a little kid anymore! And I think you need help."

"Help? Don't be so stupid. I don't need help." She takes another swig and stares right through him again, seeing only emptiness. And he sees much the same when he looks at her. But he knows he's not going anywhere.

It's around this time that Alex notices he's not like other boys his age. The other boys hang out in groups while Alex prefers to be alone. The other boys play sports while Alex prefers to stay in. The other boys don't like him and Alex doesn't like them.

But above all, Alex doesn't understand how he knows that his neighbour Jessica Mabel got a nine carrot cold necklace from her aunt in Italy for her thirteenth birthday, or how he knows the local ladies' man is still a virgin, or how he knows that Bobby Hathaway used to be the biggest nerd in the class before he became a bully.

Secrets suddenly weren't secret anymore.

He inexplicably experiences the terrible devastation Joey Roberts felt when his uncle died six years ago, senses the immense pride Gabby Walters felt when she won the science fair in 5th grade, and feels what it was like when Adam Singer's father hit his son across the face one Christmas Eve.

None of these people tell him these memories, these experiences. But Alex knows them and feels them. He tries to tell his mother after months of desperate confusion. He needs to know where he came from, who his father is, how he came to be like this. He needs answers. So this time he dares to ask. He grabs her arm, looks her in the eye and asks her what is happening.

Rose Greenwood has no answers.

Instead she stares at him like he's a stranger, and as his hold on her tightens, Alex sees something that changes his life forever.

He can't explain why, but he's looking in to a mirror at his mother's reflection. She's smiling, even glowing. He's never seen her so happy. It's hazy but he looks down and sees her protruding belly as she places a hand over it. She sings to it, and somehow he knows that she's singing to him.

Next thing he knows, he sees his mother being handed a newborn baby in the hospital. She calls it Alex and holds him close to her chest, tears in her eyes. "I love you so much," she whispers and the baby just wails in her arms.

He sees things that he remembers himself, but through his mother's eyes. He feels the nerves that she felt on his first day of school, the joy she felt when he made her Mothers Day cards, the heartbreak, the sadness, the happiness and the pride. He feels it all, sees it all.

And he sees his father. He's a tall frowning man in a suit: a stranger. But he knows that this man is his father. He can't help but feel love for him, as well as hatred and betrayal, because this is what his mother feels. "Arthur!" she cries. He sees them arguing, a flicker of regret in the old man's eyes before he says goodbye and walks out of his mother's life forever.

Then it's all a haze of echoed thoughts and blurred vision; images of the bottom of a whiskey glass and the sound of screaming voices.

Alex's eyes are wide with unshed tears as he meets his mother's shocked gaze. His mouth is dry as it hangs open. But he can't speak. It seems now that some of his questions have been answered.

He only wishes he hadn't been driving at the time.

Before he realises what's happened, his ears are filled with his mother's screaming and his eyes snap back to the road. He swerves to miss a parked car and their vehicle topples over, rolling across the ground until it slides to a stop. Silence. Alex is upside-down, but alive nonetheless. The blood rushes to his head and his eyes start to show dots. He suddenly becomes aware that his head is bleeding.

His mother is silent beside him and he turns to face her, heart pulsing fast. "Mom?" he trembles and tries to reach out for her, her face hidden by a mass of flowing blonde hair. The world feels so strange from this angle, and Alex resists the urge to go limp and give up. He pushes away a section of the thin blonde hair and breathes a shaky sigh of relief when he sees Rose looking back at him, her teeth clenched together in fear and her nose bleeding.

Rose tries to swallow but in this position its painful. Tears roll up her forehead. "Alex," she whispers and tries to reach for him. "Alex, I'm -"

Two seconds, and that was it. Alex has spent month after month trying to figure out what the end to that sentence was, but now he can never be sure. He thinks he probably blocked out what he saw in those two seconds, but he remembers hearing the loud bang of another vehicle slamming in to theirs and sending the car forwards with a force. Then he recalls climbing out of the upside-down car with painful difficulty, scrambling across the dusty road and ripping open the door to the passenger side of the car. But it was too late.

He stares for a moment at the bloody body of his mother, pushes back her stringy blonde hair to reveal lifeless features. "Mom?" he trembles, his voice breaking. He closes his eyes and lets the tears fall. "I love you too, mom. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

The world is still upside-down. Even at her funeral. He can sense the crowd of strangers staring at him, judging him. They know it's all his fault. Of course, they try and seem sympathetic with their empty words such as "I'm so sorry for your loss" and "how awful to lose your mother at such a young age". Alex doesn't care for their words because Alex knows they don't care for him. The place is full of mom's hairdressers or mom's workmates or mom's drinking buddies. They don't care about him and they hardly cared for his mother either. There's no family left to care, and so Alex stands in the corner in his five dollar suit by himself, and decides to hate everyone here as much as he hates himself.

He notices a stranger he will later discover to be Peter Petrelli standing in the corridor, watching him with saddened eyes. Alex stares at him. His eyes look so much like the man he saw in his vision. They were his father's eyes. He felt sick and turned away, and when he looked back, he was gone.

Alex is sent in to care and this is where he meets Tom, a man Peter will bump in to and think of as "menacing" on the way to Alex's bedroom months later. Tom, whose eyes are filled with hate and whose strength can challenge a boxing champion's. Tom, who gains pleasure from the suffering of others and whose anger is fuelled by the screams of his victims. Tom, who will make Alex's life a misery for several months following his mother's death.

Tom is not a pleasant man. Alex considers the possibility that he is related to the Devil Himself. Tom has no heart, he has no soul. He has nothing. And so he takes this out on the children.

Alex isn't sure whether Tom punishes the other kids as harshly as he does with him or whether the large man just has a personal dislike to him, but he hasn't noticed the bruises on anyone else. He hasn't noticed anyone else yell as loud as him when they're locked in that room with him. He hasn't noticed the same look of fear and fury that Alex gives him in anybody else's eyes.

Tom loves violence and violence loves Alex. Alex loves nothing. Tom beats him, Tom hides his clothes, Tom confiscates his things, Tom treats him like shit. Alex is too ashamed to tell anyone, but he thinks Karen and the rest of the staff already know.

The world is more upside-down than it ever was. So Alex gets angry, and he remembers what he's capable of, and he uses it against the kids who don't like him. He's figured it out by now: all he has to do his touch them and he sees their memories play out in front of him like a movie. He knows their secrets; they're not secret anymore.

And so the kids bully him, and the adults bully him, and they all think he's got a screw loose. But Alex tries not to care. He learns to rely on himself and trust nobody else. And that works out pretty well, that is, until Peter Petrelli comes along.

He doesn't trust him, can't trust him. Once he learns the truth he'll be running in the other direction. He won't help him then. Alex doesn't want his help. But he keeps showing up to this horrible place. Is he really that concerned?

They accuse him of stealing the files. But Alex never read them. He doesn't need to. All he did was squeeze Ryan's wrist and he saw it all. Ryan calls him a son of a bitch, Ryan calls him a freak. Well, Ryan has a few dark secrets of his own.

But it's all Alex's fault when Karen takes him to see Tom.

"You know I didn't do it, what's your problem?"

Tom shoves him hard in to the wall and tells him to admit what he's done.

"Okay, okay! I'm sorry!"

Tom's eyes light up with fire and he starts talking with his fists.

"I said I'm sorry! Stop it, man! STOP!"

Tom doesn't stop.

"Don't touch me, don't touch me!"

* * *

Peter pulled away in terror, ripping his hand away, breathing hard, his palms sweating and his eyes red and watery. Alex stared back up at him and met the older man's gleaming eyes with a sense of bewilderment. Peter swallowed hard and caught his breath, remembering where he was. He was shaking harder than Alex was and he tried to resist the urge to embrace the boy in a hug. Because he knew everything now and he felt like he knew Alex more than anyone. He pulled him up and squeezed his shoulder reassuringly.

"It's okay. You're coming with me."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** Sorry for the long wait between updates. I am still writing this! It's just taking a while to write and update :p

Emma was waiting with anticipation for their arrival; cleaning up, biting her nails, waiting for the door to open. Her heart jumped when Peter unlocked the apartment door and showed the damp, injured teenager in to his home. Alex pushed his wet dark hair out of his eyes, clutching his bag of things, thankful that their revisit to the foster home had been short. Peter had promised to arrange everything whilst Alex gathered his things, and then he caught his last glimpse of Tom's cold and glassy eyes as they left.

A towel was placed around his shoulders and he looked up to see a woman with dark blonde hair, smiling sympathetically at him. Peter took his bag and set it down at the side before introducing her.

"Alex, this is my girlfriend, Emma."

Emma just smiled somewhat nervously. "It's nice to meet you," she said in a voice that made Alex chuckle awkwardly.

"What, are you deaf or something?"

Emma's smile vanished and she glanced down, embarrassed and offended. Peter glanced between them both, his mouth opening as he struggled to find any words. Alex's confused smirk formed in to an appalled frown. "Oh…Sorry." His face would have flushed with embarrassment, had it not been for the many red scrapes and sores that were already there. Great. He had been there no longer than 5 minutes and he was already outstaying his welcome by insulting the very people who wanted to help him.

"It's okay," Emma told him, her nervous smile reappearing. "Do you need anything else?"

Peter was already leading him over to the sofa, sitting him down on the cushions and examining his injuries. He felt sick with hunger over the pain of the bruises that were now forming over his ribs. "I would love something to eat," he said, looking up at her politely.

Emma glanced at Peter as he knelt down in front of the boy. He quickly looked up at her, his eyes still full of concern. "I have some leftover pasta in the fridge," he told her before turning to Alex again. "You like pasta, right?"

"Sure."

He nodded at Emma and she hurried off to the kitchen to collect the leftovers. Alex bit his tongue.

"I'm really sorry, man. I don't want your girlfriend to think I'm an asshole or something…"

"Don't worry about it," Peter told him with a brief smile, already forgetting the incident had happened.

Alex watched with unease as Peter stood up briefly and then returned with a white box. It was a first aid kit. "Show me where you're hurt," he said, his voice suddenly demanding. "Not just from the kids, but from Tom too."

Alex stared at him, stunned. "Who told you about him?"

Peter glanced at him with a slight look of guilt at having invaded the privacy of his deepest thoughts and secrets, and wondered how he was going to explain. "You told me," he lied.

"I never told anyone, man. Who told you?"

"Take your shirt off," Peter said evasively. "I need to see how bad it is."

Alex narrowed his eyes at him suspiciously but as soon as he was convinced that Peter wasn't going to admit to anything, he did as he said and pulled the grubby, blood-stained clothing over his head and threw it on the cushion next to him. He took in a deep breath and glanced at Peter from the corner of his eyes. "It's not that bad."

What Peter beheld would stay with him for a very long time to come: an average teenage body, had it not been for the various colours and shades of bruises, large and small. Some, he inferred from the light green-gold colours, were indeed more than a few days old. Others were already a dark purplish colour, particularly around the ribs, and the rest of the torso was very sore and very red.

Peter cleared his throat. "Are you in a lot of pain?" he enquired, kneeling in front of him and digging in to his first aid kit.

"Not anymore. It's fine," he insisted, although he winced when Peter examined the injuries more closely.

"You'll need stitches."

"Great."

"That place is getting closed down. I promise you."

Alex said nothing as Peter continued inspecting the cuts on his face, but the shame and embarrassment in his eyes spoke for him.

"You shouldn't be ashamed, you know. This isn't your fault."

"I know," he muttered quietly in return.

"And yeah, we might be strangers, but we're family and I'm going to help you. But the only way I can help you is if _you_ tell me what's on your mind."

Alex's eyes dropped down to the red scrape on his wrist. "Sure."

Peter watched him doubtfully. He was hoping Alex would open up to him about all this soon, about what he had seen in that vision. If he wanted to help the boy, then Alex would have to trust him. He waited until he had eaten his leftover pasta before stitching up the cut on his right cheek. He thought about taking him to the hospital, but it was getting late and he didn't want to overwhelm him anymore than he had been already.

Emma, who had to contain her shock at seeing a body so damaged, had decided to leave them to it. She wasn't sure what to think of Alex for now, but she was so appalled by the brief texts that Peter had sent her before their arrival, and by what she had seen already, that she couldn't help feeling sympathy for the poor boy. Besides, if Peter had faith in him than so would she, she told herself with determination.

Alex was staring at his hands, which were resting uncomfortably on his lap. "You still didn't tell me…" he mumbled quietly as Peter finished up with the stitches and started to take off his sterilised gloves, "how did you know about Tom?"

There was a beat of silence as Peter tried to form an answer. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you," he responded in a low voice, handing him a tube of cream. "Put this on every night and every morning. It'll help with the bruising."

Alex didn't take the cream. His eyebrows knitted together with suspicion. He recalled the look of utter shock Peter had when they were at the fountain, the distant look in his eyes as soon as he touched his shoulder. "What else do you know about me?" he demanded after grabbing his shirt and pulling it over his head, his skin burning as he punched his arms through the short sleeves.

Peter sucked in a quick breath and sat in the chair opposite. "I know what happened to your mom," he admitted reluctantly. "I know they sent you to that foster home and mistreated you. I know you feel like you can't trust anyone because of what my father did to your mother. I know you're scared and you feel alone." He paused there for a moment, swallowing. "And I know what you can do."

Alex's dark eyes locked with Peter's, a glint of confusion and fear in his eye. How was it possible? He thought. Unless…

"Can you do it too?"

Peter hesitated. Alex jumped to his feet.

"You can, can't you? That explains how you know these things…that look you gave me earlier. You saw something, didn't you? You saw my past." Alex didn't know whether he should be angry, or excited at the idea of having another human being be capable of what he was, and who could understand what he was going through. "How long have you known?"

Peter shook his head. "I don't exactly do what you do…"

"Then how-?"

"I have an ability, just as you have one. But my ability is to…kind of absorb other abilities."

"Other abilities?" Alex questioned, his dark eyebrows furrowed with confusion.

Peter released a sigh and got to his feet, rubbing his chin anxiously. He looked towards Alex who was watching him now with curiosity. He knew he would have to explain everything to him, and so he spent the remainder of the evening trying. He told Alex how there were many people like him who had similar abilities. How some people used them for good, and others for evil. How because a certain niece of his exposed her ability to the world, they needed to be extra careful about where and how they used them.

"I was able to see your past because I must have absorbed your ability," he told Alex whose expression currently seemed unreadable.

"I always wondered if there were others," he muttered more to himself than anyone else. "I thought that something was wrong with me, you know? For a while I was desperate to find out why I was like this…and then my mom died."

"Our father had an ability. It's genetic. So does my mom. And my brother did too. He could fly."

"He could fly?" Alex repeated, impressed. "That's cool." He paused and his eyes drifted on to a picture behind him. Two men, one of them Peter, dressed in suits and smiling cheerfully. "Is that him?" He pointed at the man next to Peter, tall and handsome and brimming with confidence.

Peter smiled sadly and took the framed picture from the side. "Yeah, that's him. Nathan." He handed the photograph to Alex who examined it for a few moments. "He had a daughter, Claire. She has the ability to regenerate."

"The one who exposed her power on TV?"

"Unfortunately, yes." Peter sighed as Alex handed him back the photograph. "That's why we're all laying low right now. Well, most of us."

"So I have a niece? What's she like?" Alex questioned, suddenly taking an interest in the family he never belonged to until now.

"Strong-minded. She knows what she wants. She started college not long ago and would still be there now if it wasn't for that stunt she pulled." He shook his head with disappointment.

Alex was a little stunned to discover he had a niece who was the same age as he was, then chastised himself. What was he doing? He was getting sucked in to this other world, this apparent other part of himself he never knew about. He never intended for that.

But what if this was what he had been searching for, the answers that his mother could never give him? He had the opportunity to truly find out where he came from and how he came to be like this. He could have a whole other life here waiting for him; he could move on, learn to live a new and better life.

Or was it all too good to be true?

Alex sat back on the sofa, holding his head. He was tired, he was confused. He needed time to absorb all of this new information; the revelation that he suddenly belonged to another family who had various freaky superpowers. This was on the brink of insanity, wasn't it?

"Look," Peter began, noticing his unease. "We can talk about this in the morning. You can sleep on the couch for now and get some rest. Tomorrow I'll tell you everything you want to know."

Alex wasn't sure if he wanted to know anything else. He was intrigued, but at the same time very confused and very repelled. He had never valued the mundane and simple aspects of his lonely life until now.

He raised his head slightly when he heard a knock at the door. Peter glanced at his watch, perplexed over who would be visiting at this time, and then went over to open it. He frowned deeply to see his old enemy at the door, biting his lip desperately.

"What are you doing here, Sylar? I thought I said never to contact me again."

Sylar frowned. "Peter, I told you, my name is Gabriel. And lest you forget what I did for your lovely girlfriend that fateful night at the carnival?"

"I also remember several other things that happened before that," Peter mumbled angrily. His desire to kill Sylar had since faded, but his bitterness and anger still remained.

"I know," Gabriel nodded solemnly. "That's why I'm here. I need your help, Peter. The hunger. I can feel it again. I need you to help me overcome it."

"Sorry, I can't help you. I'm busy."

"I thought you understood," the other man replied with genuine surprise. "I want to change. That's my choice. But the hunger - you know how overpowering it can be. I can't control myself."

This wasn't the first time that Sylar had bothered Peter with something like this, and each time Peter had agreed to help, forcing his fury towards the man out of his mind until he was sure the world was safe from him. But there never seemed to be any real danger. It was almost as though his former nemesis was doing it on purpose. Peter glanced over his shoulder at the young boy on his couch, who was wincing still at the bruises on his body. Sylar followed his gaze.

"Who is that?" he asked curiously.

"He's nobody. A friend."

Sylar always knew when he was lying.

"Fine," Peter sighed in surrender. "He's my half-brother. That's why you need to go."

"What?" Sylar spluttered. "Are you telling me there's a _third_ Petrelli brother?" he questioned, full of strangely satisfying curiosity at this new information. "Fascinating…How did you find him?"

"Please, Sylar. Just go," Peter almost pleaded. The last thing he wanted was Sylar's presence, a reminder of the evil he had unleashed upon his family and the destruction he had caused in his life.

Gabriel nodded solemnly with understanding, and let the door shut with him on the other side. Peter leant against the wooden door and breathed a deep sigh.

"Who was that?" Alex enquired from the couch, his head raised with interest.

Peter cleared his throat and approached him again. "Listen to me, never talk to that man, okay? If you see him in the street, walk the other way. If you hear him at the door, don't answer it."

"Why?" Alex questioned further, his brows furrowed and nose wrinkled with confusion.

Peter thought he may as well tell him. He needed to know the danger he was in now. He fidgeted slightly and chewed on his lip hesitantly before answering. He took in a deep breath and looked at Alex gravely. "Because he's the man who killed Nathan."

(TBC)


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: So sorry I haven't updated in a while! Hope you all haven't forgotten about Alex! I still plan to update this when I can. I have plenty of ideas and I still plan to make a video about this fic :D**

* * *

The heat that night was unbearable. Alex was used to sleeping uncomfortably, but this time he felt suffocated. He turned over on the couch, resting his head against his arm and feeling the moisture against his skin. Pushing down the warm blankets, his breathing became faster and he adjusted his position again, screwing up his features in frustration. He swallowed when he heard a voice amidst the shadows, his eyes snapping open and his skin perspiring even more as the chilling whispers dripped ferociously in his ears:

"_You'll never be free. Never." _

He glanced around him, the moonlight from the window illuminating only half of the apartment. The rest fell under a deadly shadow and it was the darkness that made Alex's heart beat faster. He sat up on the sofa, trembling slightly, snapping his head in any direction he heard a noise.

"_This is all your fault, you ungrateful little shit. Look at what you've done. You'll pay. You deserve to pay."_

His mouth ran dry and he sat back in horror as a shadow flung towards him. His eyes blurred for a moment, and then the terrifying figure came in to focus. His fears were confirmed.

"Tom?" he croaked anxiously, clutching at his chest as if to try and calm his racing heart.

The dark figure leered, leaning over him in amusement, laughing and cackling and staring at him with a sinister gaze, blood splattered all over his uniform. He neared the boy, grinning wildly. _You'll pay. I'll make you pay. _

Alex couldn't move. He felt frozen, his eyes fixed to the figure's threatening stature as he loomed over him, preparing to strike. He didn't even blink. His heart thudded violently. He could feel it in his brain, in his wrists, the veins bulging. _Thud, thud, thud_. He was going to die.

But to his surprise, he realised his attacker wasn't Tom like he initially thought. The eyes were just as frightening, piercing in to him angrily. His features were dark and his tall build towered over him like an animal trapping its prey. He bore his sharp teeth and hissed, and for some reason Alex recognised him as the man he saw earlier. The man Peter warned him about.

Sylar.

The next thing he heard was his panting breath as he sat up in a panic, clutching his blankets to his chest and shaking violently. He felt sick. He glanced back up to Sylar but he had disappeared. Along with Tom. He searched frantically around him, breathing heavily, sweat dotting his face. Everything was normal. He caught his breath, closing his eyes and trying to gather his thoughts. It was all a dream. Just a mad dream. Nothing more.

He sat back and tried to slow his breathing, fighting the desperate urge to cry, either from child-like fear or from utter relief. His heartbeat gradually slowed, and he stared up at the dark ceiling above, contemplating just who this Sylar person was and why he frightened him so much.

Perhaps it was what Peter had told him last night - that Sylar had murdered his brother, Nathan. But how? Why? Peter didn't reveal anything else, just that he should stay away from the man. Just how dangerous was he? Should he be this scared? These questions kept running through Alex's mind and the more he thought about it, the more he kept imagining those dark eyes again, that intimidating smile. It reminded him so much of Tom, and he shivered, turning over again and refusing to close his eyes.

After another few minutes of this, Alex sighed and sat up again, wiping at his face. He felt sticky in his t-shirt and boxers and was suddenly painfully aware of how much his previous wounds were stinging. He tiredly pulled himself up and shuffled towards the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water, but on the way his eyes were drawn to a chest of drawers and he suddenly felt his curiosity get the better of him.

Feeling the need to discover more about his new half-brother, he edged towards the drawers and started sifting through them. There wasn't a lot there; some boring files, newspaper clippings, old photographs. His eyes were drawn to the old family pictures and he suddenly felt a lump in his throat. He recognised Peter in several of them, and there were several of Nathan too. They were together in a lot of them. There were pictures of them fishing, pictures of them at the beach, pictures of them in the city, and pictures of them young and happy with their toothless grins and childish poses. Alex frowned and almost felt suffocated again. What was he doing here? He didn't belong here. He needed to get out. He needed to go.

As he placed the captured memories back in to the drawer, he spotted some cash sitting at the bottom, hidden away from sight. He hesitated for a moment before pocketing the money and glancing towards the door. He looked towards Peter who was still asleep and oblivious to Alex's nosy wanderings. Now was his chance. He went to grab his clothes when something else caught his eye. Another picture in the drawer. He recognised the two boys again, grown up and happy like they were in the photo Peter showed him yesterday. But they were with an older man. Alex recognised him immediately. He looked a little more aged, but he was still the same man Alex saw in his mother's memories.

It was his father, Arthur Petrelli, standing tall and proud with his two sons; his real sons. Alex gripped the picture angrily in his hands. This was the man who abandoned him and his mother. The man who ruined their lives. He felt so much hatred for this person he never knew, but he still felt a curiosity that had never been satisfied. He glanced back at Peter and knew he was the only one who could fill in the blanks for him. Sighing, he placed the photograph along with the money back in the drawer and crawled back on to the couch. He would have to stick with this for now if he was going to get what he wanted.

* * *

Breakfast was fairly quiet. Peter offered him some cereals, admitting with some embarrassment that he needed to buy some more food as he opened empty cupboard after empty cupboard.

Alex took the cereal gratefully, hesitating to speak aloud what he was thinking. He couldn't put Sylar out of his mind, or his father for that matter. After a few spoonfuls, he swallowed and looked up at his half-brother who was already starting to clean up. Peter had told him to speak his mind, after all. It was worth a shot.

"That guy yesterday," he began awkwardly. "Sylar…"

"What about him?" Peter frowned, hardly looking up from what he was doing.

"Well, are you going to tell me about him? He seemed to hit a nerve with you yesterday."

"Look, I know you're curious, Alex," Peter said, returning to the table and this time looking the boy in the eyes. "But some things you're not ready to know yet. All you need to know is that you should stay away from him. He has a lot of - issues."

"Like you and me have issues?" Alex scorned.

Peter sat down opposite him, unamused. "No, not like you and me have issues. Sylar has a dark heart. Sometimes he can't help it, but he's very dangerous. He's a killer."

Alex gave him a quizzical look. "Right, you said. How did he kill your brother again?"

Peter's eyes dropped again and he felt the desperate need to change the subject. How could he explain everything Sylar had done to him and his family? How he had threatened them, murdered them, tortured them? How he had maliciously cut the throat of his older brother and thoughtlessly left him to choke on his own blood, dying, alone, in agony. He couldn't imagine hearing the words aloud, and so he avoided it all together. "It's complicated," he replied, his voice low and quiet. "I'll tell you some day. But for now, can we just drop it?"

Alex shrugged, obviously disappointed. But he wasn't too worried. He would find out one way or another, whether he had to use his own methods of collecting the information or not.

"Will you at least tell me about my father?" Alex added hopefully. "What's he like?"

For a moment he thought Peter was going to dodge the question again, looking at Alex with hesitance, his eyes gleaming regretfully. But he leaned forward, cleared his throat and began to answer.

"He was a very busy man," Peter said simply. "He didn't have a lot of time for me and Nathan…but he was a good dad."

Alex raised an eyebrow. "He was?"

"I know you have a lot of presumptions about him. I know you hate him for leaving you and your mom, but he did it out of loyalty to my mom. She needed him and he made the decision he thought was best."

Alex gave a sarcastic chuckle and rolled his eyes. "_She _needed him? What about _my_ mom? I had to witness her kill herself everyday for that jackass. She suffered because of _him_."

"I know, and I'm not defending him. Our dad…he was very conflicted. He may have not always made good choices, but he always did what he thought was best, even when it hurt others."

"Sounds like an asshole to me."

Peter smiled a little, understanding Alex's response. "Well, I guess he was a little bit."

"And he isn't anymore?" questioned Alex, suddenly aware that Peter had been using the past tense.

Peter paused, realising with shock that he hadn't told Alex what had become of their father. He sighed, wringing his hands together nervously before speaking. "He's dead," he told him bluntly, the sadness remaining in his eyes.

Alex's mouth hung open. He wasn't sure how to feel. Even though he had detested Arthur Petrelli since he was a little kid, he had never considered the possibility of him being dead. He would never get the opportunity to meet him and silently, he tried to decide whether he was disappointed or relieved. "How?" he asked after a few moments. "When?"

Again, Peter hesitated. He knew Alex wanted answers and he knew he had promised to give them, but it felt too soon to reveal their father's true nature. His family history was complicated, and he couldn't bring himself to get in to the painful details right now, so he did what his mother had done to him before all this began. He lied.

"He had a heart attack," he said. "Nathan found him on the floor of the dining room one evening, just lying there. When they got to the hospital it was too late."

This was the version of the story that Peter had believed for so long, only he knew now that it wasn't entirely true. He wished it had been, but sadly, there was a lot more pain and conflict to come between him and his father; a series of events that Peter wished had never taken place, and now the memory of his father had been tarnished. He didn't want Alex to experience the same feeling. He hated him enough already and so Peter had lied to save Alex any more disappointment. He had never understood before why his mother had deceived him for so long about his father, but now he knew that when you love someone, you want the people they cared for to think the best of them. His mother didn't want him to know what Arthur was capable of and now Peter wanted to do the same for Alex. He knew he would find out the truth eventually, just not now. Not when Alex was still so troubled and untrusting. He could see the surprise in his expression, the awkward look in his eye that told him he was unsure how to feel, and yet at the same time there was a slight look of suspicion that made Peter panic.

"That was a while ago now," he added, clearing his throat. "My dad's been gone a long time." That much at least, Peter thought, was true.

Alex nodded, grateful that Peter had answered his question, but he couldn't help the feeling that he wasn't telling the whole truth. He thought about reaching over and using his ability to find out the truth for himself, but they were interrupted by a knock at the door and so Peter, reluctantly, walked over to answer it, leaving Alex alone at the table.

Angela was waiting at the door, her gloved hand outstretched to knock again when Peter emerged, his mouth open in surprise.

"Mom? What are you doing here?"

She smiled tightly. "I just came to see how you were. Isn't a mother allowed to check up on her son? I know you've been troubled lately with all the unpleasantness that has been happening the last few days." Her eyes wandered over to the teenager behind him, sitting with unease as he glanced in her direction and then turned away awkwardly. "Who is that?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

Peter turned towards Alex who was busy pretending he couldn't hear their conversation. He closed the door slightly and joined his mother in the hallway outside. "That's my brother," he told her, folding his arms. "That's Alex."

"You brought him home?" she asked, almost horrified. "Peter, you don't know anything about him, what he's capable of ¾"

"Actually, I know exactly what he's capable of. I know more about him then you think."

"But Peter, you don't know anything about taking care of a child."

"He's seventeen years old. I think I can handle it."

"Really? Do you remember what you were like when _you _were that age? You weren't always the perfect little angel you are today, dear."

Peter rolled his eyes. "Look, I know it won't be a walk in the park, but I had no choice. You don't know what it was like for him in there, what they were doing to him. I had to get him out, alright? For his safety."

Angela frowned, although inside she felt a strange sort of pride. "You care too much. Are you sure you know what you're doing?"

Peter sighed. "No, but I'm okay with that. I'm going to do the best I can to help him, no matter what you think."

Angela bit the inside of her cheek, knowing she had raised a stubborn son, but at the same time she understood and respected his decision. She nodded and forced a smile. "Well, if you think it's for the best, I trust you."

"Thank you." They smiled at each other briefly. "Do you want to meet him?"

She looked up at him, her smile vanishing and her eyes widening. She hesitated responding for a moment. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"I understand," Peter smiled sympathetically. "But I think it would be great if you two met. He's part of the family now."

She glanced through the gap in the door, feeling her heart race at the thought. She was very skilled at keeping calm and clear-headed during tense situations, but when it came to this, she felt like a little child again ¾ so nervous and terrified. She shook her head, forcing a nervous smile. "Maybe another time."

"Okay." He kissed her on the cheek. "Another time then."

She smiled again, but her gaze seemed panicked and her lips trembled. She took a step back before pausing, pursing her lips together tightly and holding back her emotions.

"He has his eyes," she said simply, looking towards the gap in the door once more.

Peter smiled slightly, nodding gently. "I know," he said softly before catching one last glance of his mother before she turned and disappeared down the corridor.

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

It was all flooding back to him now; those hateful crowds, those mocking stares. He could never stand it before and he couldn't stand it now. But he had no choice in the matter. If Peter was going to let him stay in his apartment, he had to go to school.

Alex and high school never mixed very well. Even before he knew he was different - that he was some abnormal freak - the other kids disliked and ridiculed him. Even the teachers seemed wary of him. It probably didn't help that his mother turned up drunk to every parent's evening she bothered to attend.

Alex didn't like learning anyway. Instead, he preferred being by himself out in the city, away from all the prying eyes and petty conversations. He'd sit outside abandoned buildings, smoking and thinking. Thinking about what he was going to do with his mother when he got home, how he was going to sober her up or how he was going to stop her from crying in to the night. He may not have known much about literature or mathematics, but he knew how to make the perfect hangover cure or how to take care of a grown woman who had gone off the rails.

He took a drag from his cigarette and observed the crowds of students bustling about as he waited for Peter outside the building. It had still only been less than a week since Peter took him in and they hadn't established rules and boundaries yet. Only the fact that he needed to go to school and get an education. Of course Alex had protested. Going to school meant having to deal with those bratty school kids and arrogant teachers. It also meant that this whole arrangement was permanent, and Alex hadn't planned on staying long.

The worst thing though was that Ryan was going to be there. As if it hadn't been bad enough living with the pompous jerk, he had to go to school with him too. He was suddenly overwhelmed with memories of being shoved in to bathrooms and crushed against lockers. He and Peter had discussed the idea of starting a new school, but with just under a year to go until graduation they decided (or rather, Peter decided) it was best for him to continue on at his old one just outside the city.

He had exhaled another breath of smoke when Peter emerged from the school entrance. "I spoke to the Principal," he said. "He'll take you back as long as you're on your best behaviour."

Alex frowned and gave a half shrug as he raised the cigarette to his lips again. Peter batted the little stick out of his fingers.

"Rule number one: no smoking. Ever."

Alex sighed as he stared at the burning ash on the floor. "I thought going to school was rule number one," he muttered.

"Fine, then it's rule number two. You do realise how bad those things are for you?"

"Are you my doctor now?" Alex questioned him sarcastically.

"No, but in case you hadn't noticed, I'm your guardian now and what I say goes. Okay?"

"Fine," the boy replied, rolling his eyes. "It was an expensive habit anyways."

Peter softened a little bit. "How are the bruises?" he asked. "They don't seem as visible anymore."

"They're fine," Alex murmured, eyeing the people around him cautiously

Peter noticed his anxious glances. "Hey, don't worry about today, alright? Ignore those kids, you're stronger than that."

"How do you know? You barely know me."

"I _do_ know you, Alex."

"Right, because you have that same thing that I do with the memories, except you don't _really_." He wrinkled his nose.

"It's complicated. Look, I'll explain more in good time. For now just…go to school, learn something." He smiled at him. "You're a Petrelli. I know you can get through this."

Alex didn't seem so sure. Peter handed him some money.

"For lunch. Make sure you eat something."

"How do you know I won't just take this money and get on a bus somewhere?"

Peter shrugged and offered him another smile. "I don't. I'll see you later," he said, already backing away.

Alex was hesitant to let him leave. "Peter?" he called. Peter stopped and turned to face him again. "When will you tell me about my father? And Nathan? About what happened to them?"

Peter sighed and broke eye contact for a moment. It was obvious he thought it was a terrible idea to tell the truth so soon. After a moment he tried to smile positively at him. "When you're ready," he said. "Soon."

Peter left Alex alone outside the school.

He felt like he was being abandoned again, but he knew how to take care of himself by now. He had done it for so long, it was like second nature. He sucked in a breath, pushed back his fears, and walked through the doors.

The school hadn't changed one bit, and that's probably what unnerved him. He pushed through the mob of teenagers, holding his breath. He caught the snippets of tedious conversations, the insolent laughs, the childish shoving. He felt as though he were trapped in a cage with a bunch of hyenas. He didn't belong here.

He remembered what lesson he had that morning. He always wondered how speaking Spanish was supposed to enrich his learning. Nowadays, the schooling system was exceptionally flawed. Of course, he hadn't always been this cynical. He used to enjoy school as much as the next kid. Like any other young boy, he couldn't wait to run home and tell his parents what he had discovered in class that day, but unlike other children his age his home situation wasn't exactly normal. And if his mother didn't care what he had been learning, why should he?

He felt the bruising around his ribs start to burn again and he noticed some of the foster kids standing outside the classroom. Ryan stuck out like a sore thumb; he was huge. He towered over most people. Perhaps this was why Tom never beat him.

"Hey, look who it is," he said mockingly, leaning against the wall and folding his large arms across his chest. "How's your new foster family working out? They sick of you yet?"

"Give it a rest, Ryan," he murmured, shooting him a hateful glare.

"I'm just making conversation, bro. We've really missed having you around. Haven't we, boys?"

The guys around him sniggered and nodded.

"By the way, Alex," he added as he leant closer, voice lowering. "Tom says hi."

Just the mention of his name made him shiver. Ryan was loving this. Alex wanted to smack that dirty smirk right off his face, but he restrained himself. He knew Peter wouldn't be happy if he got in to a fist fight on his first day back (although, why did he care what he thought?). Besides, he didn't have the energy to battle with Ryan at the moment anyway. He walked in to the classroom and sat at a desk near the back.

"Ah, hola Alex," Señor Garcia said with surprise as he walked in to the room. A herd of students followed him. "It's been a while, hasn't it? Did you get bored of loitering out in the streets? Finally decided that getting an education is worthwhile and not beneath you?"

Alex smiled sarcastically at his teacher.

His teacher smirked to himself before turning to the other students. "Hola Clase. Please sit down."

Alex tried to ignore Ryan's cruel smile as he sat down somewhere behind him.

* * *

Peter shoved anything he could in to the shopping basket. He needed food; teenagers ate a lot of food. He needed school stuff too; books, pens, paper. What else? His mother's words began to ring in his ears. Of course, he knew she was right. He didn't know a thing about taking care of a teenage boy. But _she_ did. He thought about calling her but as he pulled out the mobile phone, he froze. She would only try to convince him to take Alex back where he found him. And besides, this whole thing had been so hard on her. He didn't want to cause her anymore pain and stress. She wouldn't even meet the kid. That told him enough about the level of involvement she wanted in Alex's life. At least for now. He hoped one day she would change her mind.

Alex would need something to occupy himself with while Peter was at work, when he wasn't doing homework of course. Since he no longer had a TV, he thought he could get Alex some comic books. Sometimes Nathan would buy him the odd graphic novel when he was a kid and he remembered being engrossed by every page. He'd lose hours of his life reading the things and then he'd get yelled at by his older sibling for not studying hard enough.

He made a mental note to find some and bring them home with him.

Eventually, he found himself in the health aisle next to the contraceptives where he realised, with a twinge of discomfort, that he would need to add yet another talk to the ever-growing list of topics he had to discuss with his younger brother. He doubted whether the subject of girls had come up whilst he was living with his mother, but there was plenty of time for that discussion. It was far too early for that kind of talk and so with a breath of relief he wandered on towards the checkout.

As he joined the queue, his gaze drew to the television set in the corner. He recognised Claire's face. The footage was familiar too. The Carnival. He watched for the hundredth time as she recklessly jumped off that structure and revealed her healing power to the world. At the bottom of the screen were the words "Elaborate hoax or superhuman ability?"

He hadn't heard from her in weeks. Last he'd heard from Noah Bennett she was lying low like the rest of them. That was probably for the best. At the moment, the public seemed divided on what they believed. There were those that thought Claire's stunt was merely a clever prank or misunderstanding, whereas many others who called themselves 'Believers' were convinced that Specials existed. Some even claimed that they were one of them, which probably helped convince the other half of the population that this was clearly madness.

His thoughts returned to Alex again and he wondered how he was going to shield him from all of this. He was only just starting to understand his ability. This whole mess was only going to exacerbate the situation.

He wondered what Nathan would do. He knew how to be the protective older brother, after all. Would he have felt this confused? This overwhelmed? He wished he was here. He missed him more than anything.

"Is that everything?" he heard the woman at the checkout ask.

He turned to look at her, realising that his hand was suddenly touching hers, and then her face began to blur and distort. Before he had the chance to question this, however, he found himself in a garden. He was at a swing set, pushing a little girl, watching happily as her blonde hair waved in the wind and she giggled with joy and asked to go higher. He knew her. Her name was Emily. She was eleven years old. She liked horse-riding and swimming at the beach and her favourite teacher was Mrs Wilson. She was eleven when she died. Peter found himself staring tearfully at the child's limp body as he pulled her from the ocean. He wanted to save her, wanted to do something, but he couldn't. He was at her funeral. He could see the family gathered around in black, crying and holding each other. He was crying too. He missed Emily. He missed Emily because her mother did.

He pulled back with a jolt, a tear running down his cheek.

"Are you okay?" the woman asked him with a frown, watching him with impatience.

Peter looked at Emily's mother with distress and wiped the tear from his face. It was becoming obvious what had happened. He caught his breath. He noticed the queue of people watching him with bewilderment. "I'm fine," he said shakily, throwing the money on the counter. "Sorry." He grabbed his shopping and got out of there.

* * *

Spanish class couldn't have been any more boring. It was all Alex could take not to close his eyes and drift off since he hadn't had a decent night's sleep in weeks. Even without Tom's ominous shadow lurking outside his door, the nightmares reminded him that he was never too far away.

"Make sure you're listening, Mr. Petrelli," Señor Garcia warned him in Spanish.

Alex turned to the front, waiting until his teacher's authoritative gaze settled elsewhere, and then his eyes wandered over to the window where he could see the oak tree standing tall outside. He noticed its brown leaves lying dead on the floor below. It made him think how cruel nature could be; to give life and let it grow only to let it die so that the cycle could be repeated. It was pointless, he thought, just like this lesson.

He could barely hear Señor Garcia's annoyed commands for him to face the front. He was too distracted by a figure standing behind the tree, watching him. He was tall and dressed in dark clothing and he seemed somewhat familiar. He noticed the man grin unsettlingly and he felt his heart begin to race.

A loud thump on his desk made him jump and it was then he noticed Señor Garcia standing right above him, his hand on his desk and his expression furious. "Finally, I have your attention," he spat. "Stand up."

Embarrassed, Alex stood, glancing around the class as everyone stared. He noticed Ryan watching smugly.

"I'm disappointed in you, Alex. I thought this could be a second chance for you."

Alex didn't say anything.

"Why is it that you have no respect for your teachers? I'm trying to teach you something here and you're more interested by what's going on out there."

He waved towards the window and Alex turned his head to see if the figure was still there, but he had disappeared. His teacher raised his voice, causing him to snap his head back to face him.

"Look at me! You will never get anywhere in life if you continue with such an attitude." His expression softened a little bit. "We've all been through hard times. I know it must be difficult for you, but we can't help you if you don't help yourself. Do you think your mother would want you to stray down the same path as she did?"

Alex blinked, feeling his muscles tense. "What did you say?"

Señor Garcia tilted his head to the side and frowned again. "I'm worried about you, Alex. I know it's been a tough couple of months for you but you need to let us help you."

He clenched his teeth together, fighting the urge to hit him, anything to get him to stop talking. This false concern was sickening. Where was Señor Garcia when his mother died? Where was he when he was turning up to school with bruises across his face? Where was he when he was alone in that foster home, too afraid to sleep at night for fear of Tom creeping in with the intent on hurting him again?

"It's not too late for you, son. But you need to get your act together." He paused, his concerned frown deepening. "What would your mother think of you acting this way?"

Alex felt his jaw stiffen. He knew exactly what his mother would think. She didn't have the patience for this bullshit and neither did he. He narrowed his eyes at Señor Garcia, trying to hold back the rage he felt at the mention of his mother. How dare he bring her up in front of all these people, how dare he use her as a way to patronise him? He could feel his fists ball up with anger. For a moment he could see a flicker of panic in his teacher's eyes as he attempted to keep his composure.

Alex broke his gaze, feeling the eyes of the whole class upon him. He didn't say a word. He couldn't. He felt that suffocating feeling again, as if something was pressing down hard on his chest. He couldn't be here any longer, and so, avoiding the faces of his classmates, he slowly trailed off towards the door in silence and left Señor Garcia alone with his attentive audience.

He dropped down behind the bleachers on the football field and stayed there for what seemed like hours. He fumbled with the cigarette in his hand only to throw it angrily on the floor. He never liked smoking anyway. He only did it because his mother had and because he thought it helped. But it never really helped at all. He watched it burn out on the ground, the smoke rising and then disappearing in to the air.

He wanted to leave. Go home, wherever that was. He wasn't really sure where he belonged anymore. All he knew was that he didn't want to be here. He knew coming back here would be a mistake.

"You couldn't even sit through one class. That's got to be some kind of record, Petrelli," Ryan's smug voice came from behind him. He could hear the arrogant footsteps of him and his friends approaching. He always hunted in packs.

He released a sigh and let his head fall back on to the beam he was resting against. "Not now, man, okay?"

"I think right now is a pretty good time to put you in your place," he snapped. "You think you're so much better than us, don't you? Little cockroach, I could squish you like a bug."

Alex swallowed. "How do you know what I think? You don't know anything about me."

"I know a few things," he said, smiling darkly. "So, does Señor Garcia know?"

"Know what?" he asked, rolling his eyes.

"That you were the one driving?"

He froze. "What?"

Ryan looked at his boys with a sense of accomplishment. He turned back to Alex. "When you got your mom killed. You were driving and you crashed the car."

Alex jumped to his feet and stormed towards him. "How do you know about that?"

Ryan's smile grew. "You're not the only one who can read files."

"I told you I didn't read them!" he yelled furiously.

"Give it up! How else would you know that stuff about my parents?"

"I can read minds," Alex said ironically.

"Has anyone ever told you that you have a great sense of humour? Is that something you inherited from your mom?"

"Stop talking about her," he seethed.

"I saw your face in class. I thought you were going to lay in to Señor Garcia for a moment there."

"I mean it, Ryan. Just stop."

"No, I won't stop," he barked. "I wanna know where you get off thinking you're superior to the rest of us, that you can get away with all kinds of shit, when you're just no-good trash like the rest of us. Poor Little Orphan Alex, always trying to pull the sympathy vote. Well, it's not working."

Alex couldn't take this. "No. That's not true, Ryan. And I don't care what you read about me, you don't know shit. Now will you leave me alone?"

Ryan snorted. "We're not finished. You want to know why Tom treated you the way he did? Well this is why. This act; it's not fooling anybody. It didn't fool Tom and it ain't fooling me."

"What are you talking about?"

"You want to know something else too? I think you _let _Tom do those things to you."

Alex swallowed painfully, his nose wrinkling at the remark. "You think I _let_ those things happen?" he asked, horrified. "As if I _wanted_ to be treated like that?"

Ryan leant closer. "I think," he murmured almost in his ear, "deep down, you let that crazy son of a bitch torture you because you _know_, after what happened with your mom, that you _deserved_ it."

The words rolled off his tongue and hit Alex is if he'd been literally slapped in the face. Ryan shouldn't be telling him this. Ryan shouldn't even know any of this. And if Ryan had known what he had been through in the past couple of months, he wouldn't have even considered what he was saying right at that moment.

Nobody deserved what Tom did. Nobody. And he felt physically sick at the thought of him doing the same to anyone else. Ryan, as always, didn't know what the hell he was talking about.

"But I don't know why you're so hard on yourself, man," Ryan continued, his voice sharp like a dagger scraping along his vocal cords. "Depressed drunk like that, it probably would have happened one way or another. She'd have killed herself just as easily without your help."

Even Ryan's boys thought that had been over the line. They took a cautious step back. Alex could feel his skin burning, his fists trembling as he exploded with anger. He punched Ryan right in the jaw.

**Tbc**

**A/N: if you're reading this, thank you! Sorry it's taken me so long to update. If you're still interested in Alex I hope you will continue to read and check out this character study video I finally got round to making:**

**GcLSkrrYkxc (just add the youtube URL bit at the beggining and put forward slash - and put a fullstop/period between the 'U' and 'B' of 'youtube')**

**There might be a few spoilers, but it's more like teasers than anything else! Happy Christmas/Holidays x**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Hi there! Sorry again for the lateness in updates. I can only apologise. I think the only way I will get this updated more often is if I keep adding short chapters. So here's a short scene here I hope you'll all enjoy!**

**And in case you missed it last time, don't forget to check out this Alex Petrelli character study (there are only a few spoilers that are more like teasers to be honest!:**

**http:/youtu(dot)be/GcLSkrrYkxc**

* * *

Alex didn't need any second guesses in figuring out that Peter was pissed. He could see it in his face when he burst in to the Principal's office, his frown deep, his brows furrowed. And it was all accompanied with this short little sigh that suggested he was deeply disappointed.

Well, thought Alex, it wouldn't be the first time someone was disappointed in him.

The ride home was horribly awkward. Peter had hardly said a word to him and the silence was next to unbearable. Alex sunk in to the passenger's seat, as if trying to hide himself from the world outside. His face had fresh marks from the scrape he had with Ryan and, whilst he felt bad for disappointing Peter, he wasn't prepared to apologise for it.

"I'm not sorry for what I did, just so you know. The jerk had it coming," he uttered, pressing his face to the window. The people outside were mere blurs on a canvas of grey. He propped himself up on his arm. He hated everything about this city.

"Put your feet down. This is a rental," Peter murmured, glancing over at Alex's trainers currently resting on the dashboard.

Alex rolled his eyes. "Where'd you get this piece of crap from anyway?"

Peter sighed and Alex retreated back to his spot by the window. He couldn't see his older brother squirm slightly in his seat, opening his mouth every now and again to try and speak, but then give up and try and think of something better to say.

"I don't know how to talk to you," he admitted finally, gripping the wheel tightly. "I don't know how to do this. What I'm supposed to say."

Alex looked over at him. "You don't have to say anything."

"But I do. There's got to be something I should say to make this better."

"There's nothing you could possibly say that'd make this better," the boy scorned.

"My mom always used to say violence was never the answer."

"Well I wasn't asking a question," Alex said sarcastically. "Look, he was saying some messed up shit, so I hit him. He hit me back. It happens."

"But it shouldn't happen. And that's another thing: no swearing."

"No swearing? Seriously? That's bullshit."

Peter raised an eyebrow at him. Alex sighed, surrendering.

"No swearing, no fighting, no…hostility. I'm trying to help you out here, man."

"There you go, you're sounding more like a pompous-ass father already. Not that I would know…"

"Alright. But I am your guardian now so -"

"'_What I say goes'_, yeah I know."

"And you need to control your anger. One more outburst like that and you'll get thrown out of school permanently."

"Is that such a bad thing?" questioned Alex. "That place is a Hell hole. I could get a job; I could work with you."

"As a paramedic?" Peter scoffed. "That's kind of the problem, Alex. To get a job like that, you'll need an education."

Defeated, Alex sunk back in his seat again, grinding his teeth together. Silence overcame them once again. Peter glanced at him again curiously.

"You ever put any thought in to the kind of career you want?"

Alex shrugged. "I don't know. I'm not really good at anything…_non_-superpower related."

"That can't be true."

Alex nodded. "Oh yeah, it is. I'm pretty useless. My mom knew it, my teachers knew. Heck, even my dad knew it and I wasn't even born yet."

"Don't say stuff like that," Peter frowned. "You know it isn't true. And you know dad didn't leave you because of that."

"No, he just left because my mom and I weren't good enough," Alex muttered, rubbing his sore knuckles across his cheek aimlessly.

Another sigh escaped Peter's lips. He couldn't win with this kid. Alex hadn't even seen the man that their father had become, the evil he was capable of, and yet Peter still felt the need to defend him. Perhaps it stemmed from that overwhelming need to protect his family, the very thing that had led him right here, right now to Alex. And which made him want to help him.

"I discovered something earlier," he said after a while, turning to Alex briefly before focusing on the road again. "I figured out how to control your ability."

"Control it?" repeated Alex, confused.

"You can control it using an emotional connection. If you're feeling similar emotions to a person you're coming in to physical contact with, it can trigger their memories."

He sat back, pondering on it for a moment. "I guess I…never realised that before. Sometimes it worked and other times it didn't. I just figured it was random. If I happened to be touching a person at the time it happened, I'd see their memories."

"Well, think about it. What were you and Ryan talking about that time you found out his parents were…well…you know."

He sucked in a breath, his nose wrinkling as he thought. "We were arguing about my family, why I was in foster care, that kinda thing. He said some stuff about my parents so I asked him some stuff about his and then as he walked away I grabbed his arm and just…saw it."

"He must have been in the same state of mind as you."

"Yeah, both thinking about how we had shitty parents." Peter gave him a warning look at his choice of words. "Sorry."

Forgiving him, Peter smiled. "I'll tell you what, once you're settled in we can do some training."

"Training?"

"Yeah. It's what I went through when I was first starting to get to grips with this. We'll explore your power, figure out exactly how to use it."

"Yeah. Yeah, okay," Alex said quietly. "That sounds like it'd be good."

Peter smiled at him, glad to have made a suggestion that actually made him happy. It wasn't going to be all fun and games though. As Peter had learnt in his time with Claude, there was a little pain involved in this kind of thing. He only hoped it wouldn't be too much for Alex to cope with.


End file.
